


Good Dog

by nogoaway



Series: Hockey AU [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bad Puns, Femdom, Hockey, Multi, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolina and York have an understanding about how their relationship works, even if it might look a little odd to outsiders. North isn't quite convinced, at first.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Carolina roots for the Habs, North roots for the Bruins, and York has a toy squirrel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Dog

“I don’t need to bring anything, do I? I mean I’m bringing wine of course, that’s just polite, but–”

York snorts. “Bro. Stop. Do not bring wine. No one drinks wine here. And no one’s polite, have you _met_ us?”

“She invited me to dinner, I’m bringing wine. And anything else you want. What else? I have–” There’s a crash from over the line, and York can practically see North sifting through the cans and jars in his tiny pantry, looking for some of those Artisianal Artichokes or Stuck-Up Pickles Wash is always foisting off on him. Quince Jelly squeezed by the hands of choir boys through cheesecloth made of goat hair, whatever it is they eat over in Cambridge.

“Just your dumb self,” York insists, for the third time. “I’m serious. It will just sit there unopened for the entire night, I don’t even know that we have a– a cork thing. A thing for corks.”

“ _You’re_ a cork,” North returns, and York has to sit there for a moment in complete and utter dismay, his hand over his face, reminding himself why he thought this was a good idea. “God, sorry. I just. I want her to like me.”

“Bro. She likes you, I promise.”

North mutters something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Red or white?” 

“Okay, no, that was not what you said. _No wine_.”

“Sure,” North says. “Red, then. Dry, or–”

“I’m hanging up now,” York informs him, loudly. “Try not to have a heart attack before you get here.”

It doesn’t hit York until he hangs up and sets the phone down that North coming over to Carolina’s for dinner means that North is going to see the inside of Carolina’s apartment. He doesn’t _panic_ , exactly, but he’s definitely not the King of Cool by the time Carolina comes in with an armful of grocery bags and finds him, one foot on a chair and a knee on the counter, trying to shove his leash on top of the cupboards, far enough back that North won’t be able to see it. York’s done the math. 6’ 3" makes for a killer line of sight. If he had more time, he’d stuff this shit under the floorboards.

“What on earth,” Carolina asks from the door, past a few stalks of celery and a baguette, “are you doing?”

York startles, and the bolt snap, stainless steel and very heavy, slides off the top of the cabinet– the rest of the leash follows, zipping and thrashing off the edge, dragging with it a bone-shaped squeaky chew toy, a hand mitt, and a soft stuffed squirrel which York has (privately) dubbed ‘Mr. Tails’. 

“Um,” he manages, and another rubber toy, this one a ball, thumps him on the head with a 'squeak’ before bouncing onto the floor. “Hiding this stuff?”

“I can see that.” Carolina sets the bags on the table, and toes the refrigerator door open, unloading milk and cheese and that weird Greek yogurt she insists on having them eat. “I’d like to know _why_.”

“Welllll,” York says, slowly, “he’s not the world’s _most_ observant guy, but I’m pretty sure he’s gonna notice that we don’t have a dog.”

“So?”

“So.” York hops down off the chair, reaching for Mr.Tails. The ball has rolled over towards Carolina, and she nudges it absently with her foot as she unpacks the dry goods. “So I like him, and I’d rather he not take one look at this place and run screaming for the hills.”

“I’ve got bad news for you, York. I fully intend on getting North into bed tonight, and that means he’s gonna see a whole lot of things, including the hook in the ceiling.” Carolina’s smirking, and York tries very, very hard not to blush. It will only encourage her. “Besides, he practically asked me to dress up and step on him. I think he’s fine with it.”

“Not the dog thing,” York mumbles, coiling the leash around his hand so it won’t fall off again “he’s joked about it before. He thinks it’s silly.”

'Silly’ was a nice word for the vibe he’d gotten off North the one time the subject had come up. York remembered it well– before he was dating Carolina, and North’s sister had dragged them to Boston Pride. There were ponies. North had said– well. It hadn’t exactly been _nice_ , and for North, 'not nice’ was very close to 'scathing’.

Carolina shrugs. “So that’s just for the two of us, then. So what?”

“So–” York swallows. He hasn’t really thought about _why_ , it was just an impulse: North doesn’t like this thing, ergo North can never know that _I_ like this thing, hide that shit ASAP. “Um. I don’t know, he’ll think I’m a freak?”

Carolina closes the fridge and eyes him across the kitchen, his arms full of dog toys and his face practically on fire. York turns his back to her, climbs back onto the chair and juggles the toys on top of the cupboard. Just the squeaky ball, and then the dog bed– he can just stick that under the sink, or something. Bottom of the linen closet, maybe. 

York strides over to the fridge and crouches down, reaching for the ball where it’s rolled under the table and Carolina gently, but firmly, sets her foot on his hand. She’s wearing strappy leather sandals, open-toed. Chipped cornflower-blue nail polish glints up at him.

“Leave it,” she orders.

“But–”

“Leave. It.”

York barely suppresses the urge to whine. Instead he sits back on his heels and tries to stay as focused, as _human_ as he can. Damn Carolina and her pet-owner voice anyway, she’s entirely too good at it. 

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Carolina says, and kicks the ball aside, sending it bouncing off a chair leg and into the hallway “And I’m not embarrassed by what we do.”

“I know,” York mumbles, staring at his knees.

“He doesn’t have to participate in all of it, but I’m not going to hide an aspect of our relationship from him. And I’m not going to lie, if he asks.”

“Okay.” York clenches his fists, lets the hot wash of shame pass over and through him. It’s Carolina’s decision, not his. 

She gives him a conciliatory pat on the head. “Good boy. Now help me get dinner ready.”

* * *

 

“So,” North says, when they’re a sweaty tangle on the bed, pillows long since kicked to the floor “dare I ask about the dog bed?” 

He’s asking Carolina, because York is very good at feigning sleep, and a lesser man really would have passed out by now. York’s too excited to sleep, though; it was _really_ good, and he really likes North, loves him maybe, and he was a little afraid that North and Carolina would clash, that there wouldn’t be room for two dominant personalities, but they mesh so, so well– North is a true switch, and Carolina moves between dominating him and using him to dominate York so smoothly– and Carolina’s petting York’s hair, letting him doze with his head between her legs, and she’s not always so into cuddling and York doesn’t want to miss a second of it. So he’s not asleep, when North asks, and he keeps quiet to hear what Carolina will say.

Carolina rubs her thumb and forefinger across the shell of York’s ear, soothing. “Pup isn’t allowed on the bed.”

“And 'Pup’ is… York?” North’s quiet, all of a sudden. Treading lightly. If York had his eyes open, he’d probably see him all red and confused looking.

“Not really.” Carolina gives York a soft scritch, running her nails down the short, clipped hair at the back of his neck. “Pup is a _part_ of York, but there’s very little of York in Pup. You’ll understand when you meet him.”

York’s never heard it put that way before. But it feels right. When he’s in that mode a lot of what makes York York, his higher-order functioning, fades into the background. But the things he’s allowed to experience, ask for and express, as Pup– affection, playfulness, submission– those are all things that York in the day to day feels, too. Wants, too– it’s just that, as day-to-day York, professional York, those things are in the background.

“I– will I? Meet him?”

“If you stick around long enough, sure.” Carolina’s powerful legs shift on the bed under him as she leans back, settling down against the headboard. “And if you pay attention. He only does it in the house. But he’ll fade in and out, sometimes.”

“But he sleeps in the _dog bed_?” This seems to be what North is the most stuck on, and that was why York had wanted to hide the goods. It’s a lot easier to explain this stuff without all the paraphernalia lying around. The gear only distracts people, makes them think it’s about leashes and mitts and weird hoods, rather than about _safety_. About home.

“Pup sleeps in the dog bed,” Carolina says, firmly. “ _York_ sleeps in the real bed. Or the sofa, and I found him in the tub once, actually, he’s got terrible sleep hygiene.”

North laughs, and it sounds normal enough. Relaxed. “You have no idea. He passed out in the showers, once. Just leaned on the wall and fell right down. I thought he’d been drugged, or something, but it turns out he’d just pulled too many all-nighters. And he sleeps in coach’s office, sometimes. He thinks I don’t know, but I got there early one morning and saw him brushing his teeth in the water fountain.”

“Ugh,” Carolina groans. “Can you believe he accuses _me_ of being a workaholic who can’t take care of herself?”

“I can,” North says, very seriously. “He’s impossible. Honestly, he’d have starved to death by now if it wasn’t for you.”

Carolina laughs. “You too. Thanks for keeping an eye on him during the day.”

“I’m a brother,” North replies, and York feels the bed dip as he shifts onto his back, stretching his legs out. “I’m used to it. He’s gotten much better since you started dating, though. He’s completely smitten with you.”

“I know.” York can practically hear her grinning. “It’s mutual, though. He taught me to cook. And it helps to have someone to come home to, I used to spend nights at the office.”

“A matched set.”

“We could use a third. I hear it’s company.”

North chuckles. “As if I could object, after that. Where’d you learn ropes?”

“College girlfriend,” Carolina says, and York’s ears prick up, because he’s _never_ been able to get Lina to tell him about this and man, has he tried. “She was Airforce ROTC with a lot to prove; very smart, but five older brothers and they all enlisted. First in her family to do higher ed. It was the only thing that calmed her down. She hung me up in the gym, once.” Carolina’s voice has gone soft, misty. Fond. She likes this memory.

“ _You_ subbed?” North sounds like he doesn’t believe it. 

“How else to learn?” Carolina’s hand runs down York’s neck between his shoulder blades, tracing rope patterns, arm bars and suspension rigs. “You have to know what you’re asking your partner to do. You know something about that, I think.”

“I don’t know, really. I’ve always been– both. Either.”

“Flexible.”

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Always. Didn’t know what it was about, until I was 16, but South and I used to play-fight.” 

“Hah.”

“Yeah. In retrospect–” North laughs. “We were a little messed up. She’d beat the shit out of me. I thought I was confused, you know? But I started going to clubs and munches and apparently it’s a thing. Liking both, I mean.”

“It’s real for you.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s real for him, too.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Pup. He’s real, for York. And for me.” Carolina’s full on petting him now, rubbing the flat of her palm over York’s skin, neck to back, like she’s following a grain. Or fur. 

“I don’t doubt that.” 

“He thinks you won’t approve.”

Silence, then, and York’s loopy and sated and surrounded by Carolina’s limbs, her voice, her scent, the safest place in the world but his throat still closes up with nervousness and dread. 

“It’s not my place to approve or not,” North says, finally. “I don’t entirely understand it. But it could never make me respect him, or you, any less. Why would he think that?”

“I’m not sure. He said you’d 'joked’ about it before.”

“I don’t–” North shifts on the bed. “I don’t remember anything like that. It’s not a topic that comes up in normal conversation.”

Carolina chuckles. “That’s for sure.”

“So how did you know?”

“Oh, he’s so into humiliation, I wasn’t surprised. But we’d go out and he’d just be fascinated by certain scenes, or players with leashes. Started spending a lot of time on the floor, and– I don’t know, exactly. You’ll see. He kind of– switches, on and off. But you’ll be lying with him on the sofa or even just talking to him and he’ll get this look, like– like if he had a tail, it would be wagging.” Carolina laughs, bright and fond, and it makes York’s chest swell, aching with affection and pride. “He’s a very happy puppy. Squirmy. Desperate for your attention.”

“Sounds like York.”

“Well, yes. But Pup’s different. More– honest. Doesn’t try and hide anything. Simple emotions. I think it’s a relief, for him. Sometimes he can be so–”

“Complex?”

“I was going to say 'difficult’, but yes. And as annoying as that can be to me, you, the people around him– I think it’s even harder for him. Pup is easy, and– and sweet.” Carolina runs her fingers through York’s hair, gentle and thorough. “It’s not even really a sex thing.”

“That,” North says, slowly “is _why_ I don’t get it.”

Carolina snorts. “Stick around, Nick. There’s a whole world of fun here.”

“Should I be afraid?” North laughs, and they just sound so– so _relaxed_ with each other, that York can’t bring himself to worry. He knew this would work. He _knew_ it would.

“Nah.” Carolina scratches, gently, behind York’s left ear. “Just don’t tell your mother about us. Or your employer.”

“Or my confessor,” North drawls, and Carolina bursts into full-on rough laughter, jostling York on her legs.

It’s as good an excuse to 'wake up’ as any, and York groans, rolling off her and onto the mattress between the both of them. North’s hand lands on his shoulder, steadying him. 

“Mmmphh mrgg,” York mumbles, into Carolina’s armpit, and it just makes her laugh harder. “Meanies. Loud.”

“Go back to sleep,” Carolina tells him, and he does, for real this time.

* * *

 

“This is a bad time,” North says, as if it’s not a question, “isn’t it?”  
  
“ _I’m_ having a good time,” Carolina offers, and wraps York’s lead one more time around her hand, forcing his head up. “You’re welcome to join us.”  
  
North has his hands full of DVDs and VHS tapes, a massive stack of them. Old hockey games, probably. Home movies. He doesn’t own any films that York and Carolina don’t already have.   
  
“I came to talk to York, actually,” he says, and sets the stack on top of the coffee table, carefully not looking at where York’s lying on the floor, half under Carolina’s chair. “So maybe I’ll just. Be back. Later.”  
  
“You can wait,” Carolina suggests, but the way she says it sounds almost like a dare. “We’d both like that.”  
  
“I don’t want to interrupt,” North hedges.  
  
Carolina shrugs. “Nothing to interrupt. I’m reading. Pup’s playing.”  
  
York _is_ playing. He has his mitts on, his collar, a tail plug, and absolutely nothing else. Carolina’s been rolling a tennis ball out into the kitchen with her foot and making him retrieve it. It’s kind of boring, but he gets pets each time he brings it back. And now North is here, maybe North will play with him. Or pet him. York sits back on his haunches and whines.   
  
“Um,” North manages, shifting his weight from foot to foot and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I really–”  
  
Carolina lets go of York’s leash, and kicks the ball into the kitchen. York clambers after it on hands and knees, brushing past North’s legs. He gets the ball in his teeth before it can roll under the fridge and brings it back, but North is closer than Carolina, so York drops it at his feet.   
  
“You’re, um. Naked.” North stares down at him. He’s _very_ red, nearly matches the (still unopened) bottle of Zinfandel gathering dust on top of the fridge.  
  
“He wants you to pet him,” Carolina says. “If you don’t, it’ll hurt his feelings.”  
  
North reaches down just far enough to brush his fingertips over the ends of York’s hair. York leans into his legs in response. North is warm, and very, very tall. York likes that. His prick is hardening in his lap, maybe North will pet him there, too, if he’s good.   
  
He’s suddenly very, very aware of the tail plug. York stands up on his knees and presses his face into North’s crotch, inhales. Denim, fabric softener. But also North, and sweat, and sex. He rumbles contentedly, sniffs again. North. Yes.  
  
“Pup,” Carolina snaps, from the table. “ _Behave_.”  
  
York whimpers, and settles back onto his heels, glancing over his shoulder at her. She’s turned the chair around so she’s facing the both of them. The book is closed on the table, a colorful array of post-its fanning out from the edges; something actuarial science related, York doesn’t understand that stuff even when he’s _not_ rolling around on the floor in dog-mode.  He shifts his weight back and forth a little, trying to get the plug comfortable again, but every little motion just makes it worse. He bites his lip, pants through his nose.  
  
“He–” North swallows, loud enough for York to hear. “You. What?”  
  
Lina has on her biggest, scariest grin, the kind she gets when she’s discovered some new extreme sport and York is about to learn _all_ about it. It sends a shiver up the length of his spine, pulling him as taut and alert as the leash, for all it’s just an expression.   
  
But she’s not looking at York.   
  
North’s fingers tense in York’s hair, and York can feel how tight his legs are all of a sudden, listing towards Carolina like she’s got him on a lead, too.   
  
“He’s being a brat,” Carolina drawls, and York swears he sees teeth. “Come here, boy.”  
  
It only takes York a few strides before he’s back beside her, neck prickling with excitement and ass throbbing and his limbs all over the place. He leans hard into Carolina’s legs, and she hooks one knee over his bare shoulder, squeezing, coaxing him under the chair. York goes. He pokes his head back out to watch their boyfriend staring at them, clearly uncomfortable, but from where he is now York can see what Carolina saw– North’s hand moving in the front pocket of his jeans, adjusting himself. York’s hole clenches, and he can’t help grinding his cock against the carpet, just a little. Just a little, she won’t even notice–  
  
“Good dog,” Carolina says, and trails her bare foot very deliberately across the floor, catching the hand-loop at the end of York’s leash with her toes. Oh. She noticed. York heaves a sigh, forces his hips off the floor. He’ll be good.  
  
“Uhm,” North manages. “I should just. I’ll go?”   
  
“If that’s what you want.” Carolina leans down to take hold of the leash, winds it taut again. York swallows, feels the leather collar bob along with his throat. “Is it?”  
  
North takes a step forward. It’s a small step, and he immediately takes a much larger one back, so as far as York’s concerned it doesn’t count. Carolina laughs, though, her happy laugh, the one she makes when she’s surprised by something– an equation she’s derived working right, a recipe she’s reversed-engineered tasting perfect.   
  
“I’ll just. Later.” North’s got his hand on the door, now. “Um. Love you?”  
  
“Later, Nick,” Carolina manages, through bright laughter.   
  
York doesn’t get it, and when the door shuts he whines, miserably, into the carpet, noses at Carolina’s heels.   
  
He hears the 'thump’ of that giant hardback opening up again, the rustle of thin pages. Whines louder.  
  
Carolina drops her free hand down, pets the top of his head absently. “Relax. He’s fine.”  
  
York grumbles his disagreement, forces his face between the mitts.   
  
“Well, maybe _someone_ shouldn’t have greeted him so rudely.” Carolina’s pencil scratches. The Post-It’s hush when they tear free of the adhesive.   
  
York loses himself in the smell of leather and the soft creak of the chair as Carolina shifts, closes his eyes and just lays there. The distress was real, but it’s fading fast under waves of safety, contentment. Even his arousal is long-gone by the time Carolina stands up, careful not to slide the chair back and hit him. York pokes his head out far enough to watch her yawn and stretch, follows her hands as they close the book, pull her hair free of the ponytail, run through her bangs and gather it up again. York sighs into the mitts. She’s so pretty. And smart.   
  
Carolina cinches the newer, tighter ponytail with a third wind of the hair band. “You’ve been quiet.”  
  
York hums. Looks up at her without moving his head.   
  
Carolina smiles down at him, fondly. Her thumb toys with the brass button of her jeans, rubbing over the embossed brand logo. York has to swallow, because his mouth is filling with saliva.  
  
“Pavlov,” Carolina muses, and laughs. “Would you like a treat?”  
  
York forgets himself for a moment and nods, furiously. Yes, please.  
  
Carolina just rolls her eyes, and strides over to the couch. “Come on, then.”   
  
York follows, all concerns forgotten.

* * *

 

“Damn it, Orr, get in there,” North hisses, elbows braced on his knees and leaning hard towards the TV, “Come on, it’s just fucking _Richard_ , no, no, he’s gonna–”

The whistle blows just as York’s returning from the kitchen with a beer in each hand. “Johnston get deked out again?”

“Ugh. Yes.” North reaches an arm out behind him and York hands him the can, settling down in front of the sofa with his own lager. “It’s like he never learns, goalies were _awful_ , I cannot believe– no, you idiot, get back on Beliv– Jesus!”

“You know,” York says, taking a swig. “They can never hear you when you yell, but considering that this game was taped in Montreal in 1971, I’m even more sure than usual that Bobby won’t be taking your advice.”

“This game was a national tragedy, ” North replies, gaze still rapt on the screen. “A disaster. We have to remember our fallen.”

“Pretty sure Bobby Orr is still alive and kicking,” York supplies, folding his legs under him and leaning back into the couch. North’s knee is right next to York’s shoulder, and his thighs are throwing off heat like always, almost bare with those stupid plum cut-offs he insists on wearing. “He lives in Medford, I think? We could go if you want, try and get his autograph. The 2015 edition.”

“I already have a signed–” North stares down at him. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

“Uh, because it’s comfortable?”

“The sofa is _right here_.”

“What are you, the furniture police?”

North’s brow knits, like he’s searching for something, and then he shrugs and turns back to the game. York does, too, watches skips and snow and tape hiss fuzz over the rink, watches Jean Beliveau backhand the puck between Eddie Johnston’s legs once, twice, three times as North rewinds again and again, sighing heavily. It’s near the end of the third (5-6, Habs), by the time York realizes that North’s _petting_ him– big hand smoothing over the back of York’s head, palm running over his hair and down his neck to the shoulders, over and over. It feels nice. York lists to the side, a little, resting his cheek on North’s knee. His beer is empty, set on the floor next to him, on the hardwood and not the rug. He _really_ makes an effort not to spill stuff on the rug.

“Damn it,” North mutters occasionally, or “ow!”, or “oh, nice,” or “go go go, come on–”. York closes his eyes, just listens. 

North’s been staying with them for nearly two months, now, and York’s happy to have him in the apartment. North is clean, and low key, and sometimes York wakes up on top of him and he makes the _best_ coffee (even Carolina agrees, and her standards are high), and most of all having him around makes this place feel a bit more like home. York’s always been more than a little convinced that Carolina will get tired of him one day and just up and leave, go date some guy who does better with Normal People stuff like taxes and marriage and running the neighborhood association and dressing “like an adult, York”,  but North _is_ that guy, big-R Responsible and good with details and laundry and York loves him, too. The three of them, they work. North is security for so many reasons. North makes York feel _safe_. 

He rubs his cheek against North’s leg, headbutts him gently. He wants the hand lower, pets on his neck and back, and York’s down on his hands and knees, curling himself up at North’s feet like he does with Carolina when he wants pets, and he’s completely forgotten that North doesn’t _do_ this, because North’s hand is drifting back between York’s shoulders, smoothing along his spine the full length of his back. York wiggles happily, settling in. He’s warm. Safe.

“She was right,” North mumbles, and keeps petting him, firmer now. “You do look. Like that.”

York exhales loudly into his crossed arms on the carpet, makes a whuffling noise. 

North chuckles. “There you are.”

York turns his head far enough to the side to lick North’s bare ankle. He’s salty and warm, so York does it again, and North laughs, shifting his leg out of the way.

“Weirdo,” he says, but it’s so fond, and so _North_ , that York squirms again, clambering back onto his knees and fitting his upper body between North’s legs and nuzzling at his belly, under the hem of his shirt.

North laughs again, bats gently at York’s face, and York licks his hands as they pass by, long and affectionate. 

“Gross,” North chides, but it doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s gross at all and when York finally sets his chin between North’s thighs, gazing up at him, North runs both hands through his hair, scratches lightly behind York’s ears. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and if York had a tail it would be going, thump thump thumping on the floor. “Good– good Pup.”

York whines excitedly, presses his nose to the fly of North’s shorts. 

“Mmm,” North says, gently guiding York’s face away. “Not now. When your– when Carolina gets home.”

York perks up at the name– Carolina, Carolina, his favorite person in the known universe– and whines.

“The non-verbal thing kind of worries me,” North muses, stroking York’s head. “How do you red out? I imagine you two have a system, but you don’t look like you’re in much of a state to self-assess, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

York sniffs, whuffles, shifts his legs on the carpet to accommodate his half-chub. He’s happy. Why would he red out? 

“You are–” North blushes. “You are very cute, though. I didn’t–” he scratches York behind the ear, and York’s leg twitches. “I kind of figured I would feel– silly.” He frowns. “People always dress up their pets, and– I don’t know. I’m not really a leather-in-public kind of guy.”

York chuffs consolingly. He knows that about North. Carolina’s the same way, but she’s more comfortable with lifestyle stuff in public than she is more 'traditional’ PDA. 

“But I guess you only do this at home, huh?” North hums. “Do you have– toys? Anything you want, right now?”

York just leans into him harder. He’s happy right here, thanks. 

“I– okay.”

They spend the rest of the game in near silence, North stroking his hair. By the time Carolina gets home, York’s on cloud nine, rolled over on the carpet with his shirt up and North’s bare foot absently rubbing his belly. He can’t remember ever being this relaxed, and when Carolina leans in to the living room he doesn’t even get up, just whines a little and rolls towards her. 

“I see you and Pup are getting along,” Carolina says, with a wry twist to her mouth. “Been spoiling him, no doubt.”

York whimpers. He wants Carolina to come over here, on the couch. He wants his pack all together. 

“I guess I have been.” North says. “I wouldn’t know?”

“Been touching him all evening?”

“I– I guess.”

“Thought so. Pup, go get your squirrel.”

York whines, rolls back under North’s foot and nudges at North’s calf with his nose. No. More petting.

“ _Now_.” Carolina steps fully into the room, hands on her hips. She’s grinning hugely, though, so it’s obvious she’s not irritated. Yet. Will be, though, if York doesn’t do as she says.

York thinks about it, for all of a second. Then he heaves himself up on his hands and knees and makes his way to the kitchen. Mr. Tails is behind the recycling bin. York grabs him by the ear. 

When he trots back into the room, Carolina is sitting cross-legged on the floor, and York spills himself into her lap, ecstatic and wiggly. Licks her face, and Carolina laughs as she scolds him, so it’s all right. She looks tired. It’s Friday. Carolina’s always tired on Fridays, since she works extra hard to have free time on the weekends. Her hair is still up in that tight, ultra-professional bun, but at least she’s taken off her office shoes. She wants to play. Wants to be home, with them.

“How was your day?” North asks, staring down at the both of them as Carolina jerks the squirrel from side to side while York clings to the tail with his teeth, growling playfully. 

“Productive.” York loses his grip for a moment, and then Mr. Tails is gone, Carolina hiding it behind her back. York whines, pitifully. She’s so mean. “Martin finally got me his portion. It would be much easier if it was all my responsibility.”

“Yeah,” North chuckles, as Carolina drags Mr. Tails across the carpet. York pounces, gets his teeth in, growls. Might shake, a little bit. He can’t help it. “While you’re at it, just fire everyone else. Run the place yourself.”

“You joke,” Carolina drawls, “but I could have that circus running at 300% efficiency, easy.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you’d burn out. Stick to fixing their disaster of an accounting system, will you? For all our sakes.”

“I don’t know how they got through the audit last year, honestly.” Carolina sighs. “Sandy keeps her receipts in a _cookie tin_. A pile of them. No order, nothing.”

North whistles. York tries not to think about the fact that he never saves his receipts for anything. He has a running tally of how much is in his checking account and just prays that his mental math is right when he’s at the register. He’s paid more than his fair share of overdraft fees. But he’s not a non-profit organization, so thankfully his finances aren’t subject to Carolina’s relentless bookkeeper’s scrutiny. There’s a reason they don’t have a joint account, and that reason is York.

“But I got through the first half of June, at least. How are you?”

“Depressed about Montreal 1971,” North admits, and Carolina snorts, elbows him lightly on the leg “We could have had it all, that year.”

“What, one Stanley Cup isn’t enough? Learn to aim lower. Know your betters.”

“And to think, after the City of Boston has become your home–”

“I’m still Canadian.”

“Don’t I know it,” North grumbles, but York is 96% sure he isn’t really angry.  

“Don’t pout,” Carolina scolds him. “You know I’ll always root for you.”

“Yeah, now that we’re too old to be drafted.”

“Exactly.” She leans over to kiss him, and North obliges. “So provided your little league stays national, I’ll never have to choose between my homeland and my, well–” She laughs, jostles York lightly with her foot. He whines in response. “You two.”

“That’s– sweet, I guess,” North concedes, and stands up off the couch, stretching. “Dinner? I’m sorry, I meant to get something started, but–”

“You got distracted.” Carolina hums. “There’s chicken fingers in the freezer. I’m gonna go shower.”

York follows her up the stairs and into the bedroom, because she’s walking slow enough for him to keep up and that’s a signal if he ever saw one. She shuts the bedroom door behind them, and starts unbuttoning her blouse.

York plants himself on the square of teal rug in front of her dresser. Carolina’s fingers pause just above her breastbone. 

“Hey, you.” 

York cocks his head at her, leans back into the drawers.

“You doing okay?”

York nods.

“Can you come up here, for a sec?”

York thinks about it. It takes him a minute. He’s gotten better at switching back and forth, and Carolina sounds serious, but North petting and coddling him all afternoon has made him a little– woozy. He has to drag himself back up, layer by layer, like surfacing out of a deep well. It helps to stand, so he does. Blinks down at his bare feet, his hands at his sides. “Um. Yeah, hi.”

“Hi.” Carolina grins wryly at him. “Wanna shower?”

As if he could say 'no’ to that. “Sure.”

* * *

 

Carolina lets York brush her hair, after she’s dried it. Carolina _never_ lets York brush her hair, but she sits down on the edge of the bed in her towel and presents him with the handle of the brush like it’s an absolutely normal thing for her to do. 

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, running the bristles across her scalp, parting the damp red hair in the middle.

Carolina hums. “Absolutely.”

“So–”

“I wanted to talk to you.” She shrugs. “In retrospect, maybe not a good idea. Give me that.”

York sighs, and hands the brush to her over her shoulder. She shakes her head a little, mussing her hair, and then parts it again, a fraction of an inch to the left of where York did it. Oh well. He slips off the bed to get himself in order. 

“Sec,” Carolina says, and York pauses with his hand on the drawer, turns to see her cinching a ponytail and staring right at him. “We need a game plan.”

“Uh,” York contributes, which is about as articulate as he gets with game plans, when they aren’t hockey related. “We do?”

“I’m assuming you want to get laid tonight,” Carolina points out, and crosses her arms over her chest, giving him that calculating look like he’s a statistic or something. “ _Possibly_ even as much as I do. So.”

“Oh,” York says. “Yeah. So?”

“So are you having dinner with us, or is Pup?”

Oh. “That would weird him out, huh?” That hadn’t occurred to York downstairs, he’d been blissing too hard, but now that he’s in his right mind it seems like a distinct possibility. Probability, even. Thank god for Carolina. 

“Not necessarily. But I do think he’d rather talk it out, first.”

“Yeah,” York agrees. “He’s like that.”

“Mm. So I figure you have two options.”

“Hit me.”

“Either Pup stays under the table while North and I have a nice time, or we hash it out over dinner and go from there.”

York has to think about it. If Carolina hadn’t brought him up here he’d be under the table right now, trying to get her and North to feed him bits of people food. It’s definitely an appealing idea. But Carolina’s right. They have an opportunity, here, one that could net them both long-term benefits. 

“Cost-benefit,” he muses, and Carolina laughs. “Shit. I _hate_ talking it out.” But he turns around anyway, pulls a pair of shorts out of the drawer; Carolina would make Pup go downstairs naked, but York is subject to the 'pants in common areas’ edict.

“I know.” She grins. “Don’t worry. He’ll do most of the talking.”

* * *

 

“Okay. Ground rules.” 

“Can you not use the Team Captain voice, man? You sound like a dad.”

“I don’t have a– I do _not_.”

“Boys,” Carolina says, and North’s Dad Voice has _nothing_ on hers; they turn to look at her across the table, chastened. She’s really got to work on hiding the manic grin, though, York thinks. Kind of spoils the effect. Well, that and the plate of star-shaped chicken nuggets she’s just demolished. 

York sags back into his chair, drums his knuckles on the table-top. “Sorry. Just. This isn’t white-water rafting, bro, no one’s signing a waiver–” Thump thump thump thump. Baa baa black sheep.

North stares at his hands. “I think I liked you better as the dog,” he says.

“Concerns, North?” Carolina folds her own hands in front of her, pushing the plate, along with its artful smears of ketchup, a few inches away. “We can start there.”

North frowns. “If he doesn’t talk, then how do you know if something’s wrong?”

“He tells me.”

“How?”

Carolina shrugs. “Same way he always does. If he spaces out or tenses up, I check in. If I get a negative response, or no response, I back off.”

“And that works because you two know each other so well,” North says, slowly. “But I’m not comfortable doing anything without a safeword.”

“Dude, it’s the _same_ safeword. If that’s too hard to remember I can just call 'offsides’ or something–”

Carolina kicks him, lightly, under the table. York yelps in surprise. “You want a non-verbal equivalent,” she says to North, like absolutely nothing just happened. 

“Yeah,” North says, looking relieved. “A hand-sign, maybe?”

“Mmm, that’s more complicated if I have him wear mitts. How about a blink system?”

“I could live with that.”

“Fine,” York grumbles, rubbing at his leg. “One for 'yes, please’, two for 'quit it’. We good?” Not like Carolina’s gonna let him do anything, anyway. The dog isn’t allowed on the bed, that’s kind of the point.

North frowns at him. “Why are you so testy?”

“He’s nervous.” Carolina folds her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you, boy?”

“Uh.” York shifts in his chair. “No?” He’s not _nervous_ exactly, just. Would like to not be talking about this right now. Would like to be back on the floor not having to make decisions. 

North’s face softens. “If you’re not comfortable with me participating in this, I understand. We don’t have to–”

York lays his cheek down on the table and whines, pitifully. Carolina reaches over to ruffle his hair. 

“How about we meet you upstairs, okay?” She suggests, rather kindly. “North and I will be right up.”

York nods against the wood grain before pushing his chair back and staggering upright. Good. Good plan. Carolina will handle it. 

He takes the last three stairs on his hands and knees, settles on his haunches in the doorway to the bedroom. He can hear them talking, down in the kitchen, muffled behind the sound of chairs scraping on the floor, plates clinking in the sink, the water running. Home sounds.

York’s going back down so fast he gets dizzy by the time they make it upstairs– Carolina ushers him onto the dog bed in the corner while North watches from the door. York strips his shirt and sweats off as fast as he can, sinks down onto his knees in front of her. 

“Good,” Carolina says, and crouches down, squinting a little. “North. Bring me the red box.”

York shivers. He knows what’s in that box, so does North, at this point, but he never thought North would willingly _touch_ it. 

But North drags it out from under the bed, places it next to Carolina without a word.

“Thank you.” She smiles at him. “Wait for me on the bed, please.”

North is almost as red as the box. “Yes ma'am.”

“Hmm.” Carolina sifts through buckles and straps, settles on a plain black collar and a smaller tail plug. When she talks, it’s low enough that York knows it’s meant just for him. “Maybe next time I’ll have him get you ready.” She grins. “Would you like that?”

York nods vehemently. He would like that very much.

Carolina makes a little circle with her finger, and York settles down obediently, his face towards the wall. He can hear her pumping out lube from the bottle, smoothing it over the plug, and when her hand settles lightly on his hip it’s wet. 

“Relax,” she murmurs, and eases the toy in without stretching him. York lets out a hiss between his teeth and just takes it. “Can you behave, or do you need a ring?”

York whimpers into the rough canvas of the dog bed, shakes his head. He’ll be good. 

“No grinding,” Carolina tells him, and slaps him lightly on the ass. He muffles a yelp.

“Jesus,” North says, from the bed, and York glances back over his shoulder to see Carolina grinning up at him. “I’ve never seen– you have those?”

“Mmhmm.” Carolina reaches down between York’s legs, cups his balls in her palm. Squeezes more tightly than is comfortable, and it makes York’s dick throb. Fuck. He should have gone for the ring, she’s going to torture him, now. He won’t make it. He’s weak. “He _hates_ them. I’ll show you, some time.”

“I’d–” North shifts on the bed, crossing his legs in front of him. “I’d like to see that.”

“I bet you would.” Carolina drags the tip of her thumb nail along York’s sac, and his whole body jolts. Fuck. “C'mere, pup.” She lets go, only to slap him on the inner thigh. York turns himself around on his knees, trying not to brush his cock against anything by accident. It works until he’s facing front again and Carolina just straight-up grabs him, jerks him to full hardness in a matter of seconds. It’s rough and perfunctory and he has gotten himself into real trouble, this time, Carolina’s showing off and that means York can’t do anything but try to keep up. “Heel.”

He’s very, very still while she drapes the collar around his neck, cinches the buckle tight. She tugs on the O-ring with her index finger and leans in, brushing his hair with her nose. York tenses, follows where she leads. 

“Stay,” she whispers, and nips him lightly, and then she’s gone, turning back to the bed like York isn’t even there. The air around him goes cold, and he’s down on the ground, down on his belly, he can just see onto the bed where Carolina’s settling down on top of North, smiling and kissing him and not paying York the slightest attention.

York whimpers, and North’s head snaps over to him at the sound. 

“Don’t look at the dog,” Carolina scolds, and sits up on top of North’s legs, pulling her shirt off over her head. “What are you, some kind of pervert?”

“Um.” North, being only human, turns back to Carolina and her lacy black bra. “No. Ma'am.”

“Liar.” Carolina reaches back to undo the clasp. York can see her fingers working, the tendons in her wrist. Graceful and strong and out of his reach. 

“Yes ma'am.”

Carolina laughs, and then they’re rolling over, even further away, York can’t see anything but the top of Lina’s head and North’s head and shoulders, but he can hear– 

“Mmm,” Carolina hums, and North’s hiss isn’t quite loud enough to cover up the sound of her undoing his zipper, the jangle of her pulling his belt free of the loops. “You know, I never get you to myself, these days.”

“That’s a shame,” North chokes out, and the belt, along with his jeans, lands with a hushed thump not a foot from York’s nose. 

“It really is.” Carolina sits up straighter, and York can see her face, now– she darts a glance at him, lightning quick. A check, and then it’s cold again, he’s alone on the floor watching them ignore him. “So. Let’s decide how to use this rare opportunity.”

North’s balled-up t-shirt flies over the end of the bed, and then Carolina’s shorts. The panties hit York straight in the face, which was clearly not an accident. They smell nice, and he whines a little, shifts uncomfortably on the canvas. 

“You have a plan?” North asks, breath stuttering. 

“I do.” Carolina leans back down, and she’s whispering. York tries his best, but he can’t hear– it’s all sibilants and hissing but whatever it is, it has to be good because North moans in response, runs his big defense-man hands along the bare arch of Carolina’s back and York aches, whimpers, presses his forehead into the floor so he won’t grind down with his hips.

“I should put the dog out,” Carolina gasps from the bed, between wet kissing sounds and North’s low groaning. “He’s being loud.”

“Ignore him. He’s just a dog.” Oh, York will get him for that later, but right now– right now– he squeezes around the plug, sheer reflex, and yeah he loves it when Carolina says stuff like that but with North doing it too it’s almost too much. York’s face burns, and he shuts his eyes, clenches his fists tight and feels it: shame, and humiliation, and the prickling hurt of being ignored, even though it’s make believe.

Carolina gasps, a quick, wet little thing, and she only makes that sound when– York opens his eyes. Looks up to see her on her knees, straddling what must be North’s head and shoulders. All York can see of him from here is his hands, running over her ass and lower back, but it’s obvious what he’s doing. He can hear North’s muffled breathing, the wet slide of his lips and tongue. Can see the muscles of Carolina’s thighs tensing and releasing, the sweat forming on her forehead and neck, curling stray strands of hair. 

York whimpers again, and she turns to look down at him, body rocking slowly back and forth as North licks and sucks. Her face is red; checking in again, but also teasing him, letting him watch as her lips go slack and her eyes flutter closed, as a shudder runs along the length of her body. She’s sleek and shivering and he can’t touch, can’t touch, can only shake in impotent sympathy as her legs quiver and her hands jerk down to cover North’s on her hips, holding him there with sharp nails and white knuckles. She’s beautiful, a flame shooting straight up towards the ceiling, and she holds North down like liquid iron as she comes, as if he couldn’t lift her off the floor one-handed.

Carolina almost never makes noise when she orgasms. It’s just a catch in her breath, a split second’s silence, and then her breathing gets slower and harsher, her limbs go fluid and heavy. York’s gotten good, over the years, at picking up on that hitch, and he listens closely from the floor, body taut and prickling with heat.

But he can’t hear, from the dog bed. They’re too far away. He whines piteously into the canvas.

Carolina opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on him.  Blinks lazily.

York stares back, trying to communicate his desperation, as if she doesn’t already know.

“I think Pup’s lonely,” she says, and reaches a hand down to pull North’s head away a few inches; he gasps loudly for air “Poor thing.”

York whines his agreement.

“Yeah?” North rasps. “Let him up here, then.”

“Hmm, no.” Carolina licks her lips. “Don’t want to encourage any bad habits. But…” she walks back a few steps on her knees, a little shakily, and York hears North’s disappointed groan. “There’s no rule saying you can’t get down on the floor with him.”

“Me, ma'am?” He doesn’t sound surprised. Amused, almost, like he does when they’re pulling a trick on York, setting him up for a terrible pun.

“You,” Carolina confirms, and there’s a rustle of sheets as the both of them rearrange themselves on the bed, sitting up and staring over the side at York. He looks up at them, baffled. Wiggles a little, feels the rubber tail of the plug wag. “Would you like that, Pup?”

York wants them _both_ to come down on the floor with him. But it’s perfectly obvious that she knows that. He whimpers.

“I think _I’d_ like that,” Carolina muses, and curls her hand around the back of North’s neck, coaxing his head forward. “To see you get fucked by my pet.”

York huffs out all the breath in his lungs reflexively, and it takes him a moment to remember how to drag any more in. Holy christ. Leave it to Carolina to initiate their boyfriend into a new kink by kicking him straight into the pool.

“Ah,” North says, his face slick from nose to chin, and quite red underneath “That’s. That’s the plan.”

“Mmhhmm.” Carolina shuffles up the bed until her back is against the headboard and settles in with a make-shift chair of pillows.  Her hand drifts idly up her own thigh, fingers brushing over damp hair, the soft outer folds of her vulva. “Go on, then.”

North sets his feet down on the floor. He’s still wearing socks, and he’s flushed from his hairline down to his chest; embarrassed, but turned on, too. York can see his dick straining at his briefs, and he has to force his hips up to keep from grinding down on the dog bed.

North kneels down next to York, runs a shaking hand along his side. “Hey.”

York leans into him in answer, rubs his cheek against North’s thigh. He’s warm and he smells like Carolina, and bed, and sweat, and York pushes his face between North’s legs, mouths greedily at his cock through the damp fabric.

“Unh,” North gasps, and sits down fully on the floor, forcing York’s head away. “Hang. Hang on.”

“Here,” Carolina says, and something light hits York on the knee, lands on the canvas. Lube. York shudders, presses harder into North’s body with his own, and North flinches in surprise when York stretches up to lick his face before grabbing him by the hair and kissing him, hard. York can only pant helplessly into his mouth, tasting the both of them. He’s going to come. It’s inevitable. Carolina’s set him up for failure, but he’s got to hold out long enough to get inside North. He clenches his fists on his knees, leans back and away from North’s mouth. North lets him go, with obvious reluctance.

“Hurry up,” Carolina says from the bed, not sounding like she’s in a hurry at all. York can see her hand moving between her legs, a rhythmic twitch of her wrist.

“Just a second.” North reaches out to cradle York’s chin in his hands, forces York to look at him. “Are you all right?”

York stares. North raises his eyebrows. York rolls his eyes and then blinks once, slowly. Good grief.

“Should I be asking you that, Nick?” Carolina wonders.

“I’m fine, ma'am,” North says, and pats York lightly on the cheek. York only barely resists the urge to bite him. “We’re all fine.”

York’s irritation only lasts as long as it takes for North to get down on his hands and knees and open the lube; then he’s fully occupied with watching North as he prepares himself and trying not to grind into the dog bed.

North’s mouth is open slightly, and he hisses when he adds a second finger. York stares and, after a moment, sits on his own hands. Just to be safe.

Carolina knows exactly what he’s doing, of course, and she laughs; a little breathily. “Good boy.”

Something warm bubbles in his chest at the praise, and when Carolina quirks a grin at him he has to duck his head down, knowing he’s blushing. He just… likes when she’s proud of him, is all. Likes it a lot, maybe more than he should when it’s stuff like this, simple stuff, but that’s kind of what makes it possible. Carolina asks for something simple from him: do this, don’t do that, and it’s always something he _can_ do, even if it’s difficult. Even if he doesn’t always quite hit the mark. 

“Turn towards me, Nick,” Carolina orders, and North does so, walking himself awkwardly around on his knees until he’s facing the bed, his ass to York. He exhales shakily, folds his arms in front of him, and settles his face down on his crossed wrists.

York can only stare, watching North’s legs shake ever so slightly. No one’s told him to move. 

“Go on,” Carolina says, with a wry twist to her mouth. “No hands, Pup.”

York heaves himself up onto his knees, practically falling on top of North, who huffs out a surprised breath and takes a moment to steady himself under the sudden weight, spreading his legs wider. York feels clumsy, dizzy, and he has to loop his arms around North’s chest to anchor himself, suddenly awash with warmth and that particular contact high he always gets from touching someone else skin to skin. It’s awkward– North is much too tall for it to be anything but awkward, but York’s not thinking about how it might look, even though he can hear Carolina laughing softly from the bed. She sounds– not derisive. Happy. York likes that. York likes the firmness of North’s back under his chest, the bumps of his spine, and he really _really_ likes North’s hand reaching back to guide him inside.

North’s hot and tight inside. York can’t control his hips, can’t control anything. He’s flushed from head to toe, legs and stomach shaking with relief– finally, _finally_ – and North is so big and steady under him, immovable but not impassive, York can taste the sweat on his back, the twitch of his shoulders, can hear him groaning through the sound of York’s own frantic breathing. York tastes, listens, feels– can’t think. He lays his cheek against North’s back and thrusts mindlessly, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s so fucking close.

“Not yet,” Carolina says, right by his ear. 

York shudders, slits one eye open just far enough to see her legs where she’s standing next to them. Her hand is in his hair, tugging lightly, sending sparks down his spine. The sound it pulls out of him is high and embarrassing, a whine and a moan and how could she _do_ this to him? He’s done. He was done five minutes ago.

“Fuck,” North grits out, somewhere below him. 

“A little longer,” Carolina says. “Don’t come yet.”

Can’t. He can’t, it’s impossible. 

“You can.” The hand smooths over his head and down the back of his neck. “I know you can.”

He can’t. York grips North even tighter around the waist, pumps up into him and holds himself there as he comes, shaking. It seems to take forever, and when he’s done he doesn’t want to let go, can’t make his arms or legs work. 

North shifts under him, uncomfortable or agitated. Carolina pats York lightly on the shoulder, and then hooks her fingers into his collar, pulling back. “Come on. Off.” 

York goes, finally, and collapses onto his side on the dog bed, completely drained. He’ll feel ashamed of letting her down later, but at the moment his mind is utterly, blissfully blank. 

“He okay?” North asks, between loud, rough breaths.

“He’s fine. Come here.”

York watches Carolina curl her narrow hand around North’s dick and tuck his flushed face into her neck, watches North’s hips twitch up off the floor again and again as Carolina brushes kisses onto his forehead. He’s not jealous or lonely anymore. He’s tired. He closes his eyes.

* * *

 

York wakes up to find himself wrapped so tightly in a blanket that he can’t move his arms. Well, some of that is the blanket, and some of it is Carolina. She’s got more upper body strength than her wiry frame would indicate. York’s pretty sure it’s the pilates; gives her tiny, unassuming muscles of straight up steel. He feels like a marshmallow in comparison, sometimes; all bulk, no bite.

“Ow,” Carolina mumbles, directly into his ear.

“Sorry,” North whispers, and then York hears it. The hairbrush. “Why does this tangle so easily?”

“It doesn’t,” Carolina says, and nuzzles at York’s neck. The collar is still on, and he takes a moment to assess. Plug is gone. He’s warm; almost too warm, but relaxed all over. “If people don’t go mussing it.”

North chuckles. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Mmm.” Carolina sighs, stirring the hair around York’s ear. He can feel her bare belly and ribs on each inhale and exhale, and he wriggles backwards as much as he can, wanting contact. “Someone’s awake.”

The hush of the hairbrush stops; shuffling noises, the snap of a hairband. Then the bed dips as North crawls over the both of them to settle down on York’s other side, legs crossed.

“Hey, boy.” he says, and smiles. There’s something weird about it; like the way you’d smile at a little kid. A friendly, non-threatening, distinctly un-sexual smile. 

York stares back. “Um. Hi?”

Carolina chuckles. 

North’s weird, patronizing smile slips into a sheepish grin. “Right.” He scratches at the back of his own neck, blushing. “How are you doing?”

York blinks. “I’m fine.”

North chews on his lower lip. His face is very red. “You sure?”

York nods, slowly. He’s beyond fine. “Yep.”

Carolina smiles against York’s bare shoulder, and gives him a poke in the ribs. “I think York could use a glass of water, actually.”

“I could?”

“Yes, you could. And a granola bar.” She pats him lightly on the side, and curls their legs together even tighter.

North nods, and slips off the bed with a very serious expression, one which is ill-suited to his nudity. He’s out the door and headed down the stairs before York can get a good look at him, but there’s definitely some bruising happening on his back; York doesn’t remember biting him, but he must have.

“Is he okay?” Christ. They overdid it, didn’t they? Though, York reasons, if North was going to flee the apartment entirely, he wasn’t going to do it without pants.

“He’s fine.” Carolina shoves at his shoulder, and York rolls over as best he can, until he’s facing her. She’s smiling; a little goofily, actually. He hasn’t seen that one in a while, and he can’t help but grin back. “He just needs to feel useful. And you’re dehydrated.”

York sighs happily into the pillows. “If you say so, Coach.”

Carolina rolls her eyes, but slips her index finger though the o-ring and drags York forward to kiss him on the cheek, and then again on the brow. “Mm. Good game, by the way.”

“I messed up at the end,” York says, suddenly feeling a bit morose. “Sorry.”

“You tried your best. You’ll do better next time.”

“Yes’m,” York mumbles, squirming even closer. 

Footsteps coming up the stairs, much too quickly. “Hey, I brought– oh.”

York glances over his shoulder to see North shifting his weight from foot to foot in the doorway, holding two water bottles under his arm, a third in one hand, and an entire box of granola bars in the other. It’s unopened. The full sixteen pack. 

“We could live for days on that,” York says, without thinking.

Carolina laughs. “Come _here_ , Nick.”

“I’m just gonna. Shower real fast.” North mumbles, and hobbles close enough to hand off his bounty before vanishing out the door again. A moment later York hears the water turn on. 

“Why does it have to be weird?” He groans, butting his head against Carolina’s chest.

She pats him on the shoulder and sits up, reaching for a water bottle. “It’s not. Relax. He’ll be back.”

Sure enough, five minutes later York ends up propped against the headboard with Carolina on one side and a slightly damp North on the other, granola bar wrappers scattered across their bare legs. 

“The thing about Canadians,” Carolina says lightly, “Is that we’re reasonable people when it comes to hockey. We do not, for instance, send Mounties to arrest Bruins players for a little scuffle on the ice.”

North snorts derisively. “Please. Anything that may or may not have happened in the 1950s is nothing compared to the shit fit Vancouver threw in 2011.”

“That’s Vancouver,” Carolina says, as if that explains everything. “That doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts!” North leans bodily over York to grab another granola bar from the box on Carolina’s lap. “It’s a part of Canada. Canadians live there.”

“Not to mention,” Carolina says loudly, moving the box out of his reach “we understand that only a certain number of players are allowed on the ice at any one time.”

North waves his arm feebly and loses his balance, tipping his full weight onto York’s legs with a grunt. York stares down at him in utter helplessness. He can’t escape. He’s pinned. 

“Help me,” North whispers, into York’s knees. “Your city needs you.”

“And we certainly don’t check people into metal benches,” Carolina continues, bringing the box back into grabbing range and handing York an unopened granola bar “Or threaten to kill them in the handshake line. Bostonians, on the other hand–”

York takes the granola bar and slides his finger under the wrapper. He is unreasonably hungry. “You know Milan Lucic is actually Canadian, right?”

North nods against his legs. “He is. Tell her.”

Carolina very deftly reaches over and plucks the granola bar back out of York’s hand. “Means nothing. He is a Bostonian in his heart. Also, we’ve established that I’m not responsible for Vancouver.”

“I’m still confused on that point,” York admits, staring past his empty hand at North’s back. Yeah. Definite bite marks. He rubs his palm over North’s lower spine in apology. 

“Mpph,” North agrees. 

“You kind of have to be from Toronto,” Carolina says. 

“Another thing I don’t get,” North starts, and York freezes with utter dread. No. Not now. Not tonight, of all nights.

“Yes?” Carolina asks, with that sweet, honeyed, terrible voice of hers. 

“No,” York moans, and tries to wiggle out from under North’s bulk to escape. It’s like they _planned_ this. Oh god, _did_ they plan this?

“Why aren’t you a Leafs fan?” 

Carolina taps her finger on her chin. “Well, Nick, it’s funny you ask. I used to be, but I could never _score_.”

York scrambles harder. Grips the headboard and tries to pull himself up. North, the bastard, just grabs him by the knees. 

“Let me go,” York gasps. “Please, god.”

“Would you say that you found it hard,” North says “to be _leaf_ in them?”

“I’m sorry I bit you,” York pleads. “I didn’t mean to.”

“They didn’t leaf me much choice.” Carolina sighs theatrically. “Also, I wasn’t able to drink anything when I lived there.”

“Right. Because the Habs had all the cups.”

“ _Exactly_.”

“Why,” York asks the wall. “Why this. Why did you have to bond over this.”

“Aw, you love us.” North kisses the back of York’s leg, and it’s gentle, and familiar, and York might melt a little, relief unknotting something that was still anxiously stuck in his chest like a burr. It was fine. They’re fine. Nothing’s weird.

Carolina crunches into her third (fourth?) granola bar. “In any event, he’s stuck with us.”

North nips at his hamstring. “You didn’t bite me, by the way.”

“I didn’t?”

“Nah. That was all her.”

Carolina shrugs. “What can I say? He’s very bitable.”

York frowns. “Uh, when?” He would have remembered that, surely.

“After you zoned out,” North says, and tugs him back down to horizontal.

“Come here.” Carolina loops an arm over his shoulders, tugs him in close to her side. York goes happily, settling in with North’s head in his lap. “We had some fun with the blue box.” 

York’s eyes widen. “You _did_?”

“Yeah,” North breathes, a little dreamily. “It was _fun_.”

“You didn’t _tell_ me?” Carolina and North playing with the blue box is really high up on York’s list of things he needs desperately to see. Somewhere between Carolina rigging North to the ceiling (number two) and North and Carolina playing with bunnies at the animal shelter where Wash works (number four, although he’s seen it once already. Angels wept.) 

“Mm.” Carolina pats him consolingly on the back of the head. “That’s what you get for passing out on us. I’ve been trying to train that out of him, by the way.”

North snorts. “Good luck with that. I think it’s hardwired.”

“Maybe between the two of us we can manage it.”

“Maybe,” North says, and yawns so wide his jaw cracks. 

“Or maybe,” Carolina says, grabbing the collar before York can make a break for it again, “it’s just best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

York feels his lips twitch. Chokes back a little half-laugh. No. He will _not_ give her the satisfaction. 

“Did I get him?” Carolina wonders. “He’s smiling, isn’t he?”

North laughs. “Yeah, Lina, you got him.”


End file.
